


slow dance these summer nights

by cosmicaa



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, M/M, lots of mentions of troyes eyes, sappy boys in love, the sappiest thing ever probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicaa/pseuds/cosmicaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“stop staring at me,” troye mumbles, slowly and with his eyes still closed. his voice is deeper than normal and honestly, connor shouldn’t still be affected by this.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"‘m not,” connor replies softly, watching the sudden quirk at the corner of troye’s mouth.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i> “sure, con.” </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or, troye and connor spend a day in while troye visits los angeles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow dance these summer nights

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [танцуем медленно мы летними ночами](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184413) by [wllzft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wllzft/pseuds/wllzft)



> hello!! this is my first tronnor fic that i wrote all in one week last month and i am actually very proud of it! this is basically just my headcanon on what the boys will do when they have spare time in la. hope you enjoy :-)
> 
> tumblr link [here](http://aureatelys.tumblr.com/post/125131999493/slow-dance-these-summer-nights-pairing)! come talk to me on tumblr.. lets be friends.. talk abt tronnor..

i.

it’s entirely too warm when connor feels himself starting to wake up. there’s sweat starting to form on his back and the chirping of the birds outside are as annoying as ever, but there’s a familiar warmth and even more familiar breathing next to him.

he cracks one eye open and is instantly drawn into the curl of troye’s eyelashes, just like he does every morning after they spend a night together. watching troye sleep in connor’s house is ten times better than if they were in perth, as creepy as that sounds, simply because of how the bed is positioned right under the windows, making sunlight streak rays across his messy bedhead or draw shadows with the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

their legs are tangled together under the sheets and only the top of troye’s head is poking through. no matter the positions they get into the night before, usually ridiculously close spooning, they always end up facing each other in the morning. connor says it’s because troye is too lanky to be the little spoon while troye says that he gets annoyed when connor occasionally gets out of bed for a glass of water in the middle of the night.

he knows that the boy is still suffering from jetlag, as evident by the dark bags under his eyes and how he had started yawning at around dinner time the night before, so connor resists his keurig that’s starting to call out for him and shuffles closer to his boyfriend.

connor’s palm is sweaty from where troye has clasped his own skinny hands around him, and he watches with a fond smile as troye tightens his hold on him, wrinkle his nose a bit like a rabbit, and snuffles.

“stop staring at me,” troye mumbles, slowly and with his eyes still closed. his voice is deeper than normal and _honestly_ , connor shouldn’t still be affected by this.

“‘m not,” connor replies softly, watching the sudden quirk at the corner of troye’s mouth.

“sure, con.”

**  
**

ii.

when connor wakes up again, he’s instantly met with a pair of blue eyes.

he almost jumps out of his own skin, heart rate spiking suddenly, but he can recognize those eyes anywhere and, _oh yeah_ , his boyfriend is in bed with him.

troye squeezes his hand comfortingly, though he does that laugh thing where he exhales sharply out of his nose.

“you scared me,” connor mumbles, face slightly heating up as he tries to bury himself in his pillow. it is _far_ too early for this.

troye hums, like he always does when he hears how deep connor’s voice is first thing in the morning, and releases his hold on his hand to wrap an arm around connor to pull him closer. “you love it.”

troye in the morning is one of connor’s favorite troye’s, simply because of how soft and sappy he is. he’s never this touchy either as connor watches the boy seemingly almost try to burrow himself further into connor’s arms.

both of them only have boxers on because of how horribly warm it always gets in connor’s room, and their bodies are pressed so close together that connor’s not sure if it’s troye’s heartbeat that he’s hearing or if it’s his own.

he can feel troye smiling at the base of his throat, the one where he’s half a second away from smiling with his teeth and making him look like the personification of the sun, so he doesn’t exactly deny it when he says “sure, babe.”

**  
**

iii.

it’s nearing afternoon when they finally manage to stumble into the shower together.

troye still looks as if he’s about to fall asleep while standing up— eyes heavy-lidded, leaning far too much into connor’s chest, and looking inhumanly cute. connor would offer to wash his hair for him, but the last time he asked, troye nearly bit his hand off, going on about how nobody else can touch his hair unless they’re a professional or if they’re having sex. connor still remembers how much his ears burned after that, despite the smirk on troye’s face.

troye seems content to hunch over slightly so as to hook his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder while connor tries his best to wash his own hair. he’s not doing so great with how he’s too paranoid of getting shampoo in troye’s eyes and how the boy is hogging all the hot water, leaving him almost shivering.

“c’mon, sivan, time to wake up.” connor nudges at him, rolling his eyes when the boy groans dramatically and wraps his arms around his waist in response.

it takes some more nudging, but eventually troye detaches himself and begins washing up. they’re able to have some sort of rhythm every time they shower together, somehow finishing before the hot water runs out— easily moving around each other as they take turns washing their hair.

several minutes later, troye is looking much more awake as he finishes rinsing himself off, so connor finally takes his chance to step closer (so he can touch his wet boyfriend and also so he can have some of the hot water, _thank you very much_ ) and wrap his own arms around troye’s waist.

“good morning,” connor says only slightly cheekily, reluctantly having to crane his neck a bit to look troye in the eyes.

“a _very_ good morning,” troye replies, eyes looking as bright and soft as ever. from this close, connor can see how his eyelashes have clumped together, so he can’t help it when he leans forward to have their first kiss of the day.

if connor sputters a bit from the water getting into his mouth, resulting in troye’s shrieking laughter echoing in the bathroom, then it’s not his fault. not really.

 

iv.

connor has always admired troye’s hair and its ability to look impeccable on any day, so he’s only pouting a little bit when he’s still stuck in the bathroom, trying to get his quiff perfect even though he’s pretty sure they’re not even going to leave the house today, while troye tries to start making their breakfast/lunch.

his quiff has started to resemble its usual shape when he hears a clanging of a pot falling to the floor, followed by troye yelling “oh my god!”

“you alright out there?” connor asks, his voice too loud in the empty bathroom. he’s only a little bit concerned when it comes to troye in the kitchen, simply because he knows how much junk that boy consumes when he’s too busy in the studio or hopping from hotel to hotel.

he’s only a little smug about the fact that the only time troye eats healthily is any time he’s with connor.

“fine! i’m— totally fine, yep,” he hears, but then he hears the smoke alarm go off.

connor sighs and puts down his comb to go out and help his hopeless boyfriend before he burns the entire apartment complex down.

there are eggs sizzling in the pot, almost close to burning if connor’s nose is right, what looks like burnt toast already on the table, though there’s still an open package of bread next to the toaster. it looks like troye had somewhat succeeded in scooping the avocado out into a bowl, though connor can see the skins still on the countertop and that he had actually scooped out too much.

troye’s standing on one of the dining room chairs, using a paper plate to fan the smoke away from the smoke alarm. his head whips around when he hears the choked off laugh connor emits, looking entirely too similar to a little kid getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to do.

“everything is under control,” troye says calmly, pretty blue eyes shining in the afternoon light, wearing one of connor’s shirts that’re too big for his lanky frame with the collar drooping over his shoulder and sweatpants.

he rolls his eyes, though he can feel a reluctantly fond smile forming. troye smiles sweetly in response— one of connor’s favorite smiles on him because of how it shows off his teeth.

connor feels something unfurl in his chest that’s starting to become too familiar— something warm and soft and reminding him of home.

**  
**

v.

after the smoke alarm shuts up, connor makes troye sit down at the dining table so he could finish making their breakfast/lunch.

troye scowls the entire time, knee jiggling with how restless he is as he watches connor flit around the kitchen. “i could _help_ , you know.”

“i know you can,” connor replies, distracted as he tries to make their poached eggs absolutely perfect, just to rub it in troye’s face later.

“can i at least make your coffee?”

“absolutely not.” connor then steps over to his keurig, and the motions are so familiar now that he doesn’t even think twice about what he’s doing. “but you can set the table if you want.”

the chair instantly scrapes against the floor as troye abruptly stands up, the noise making connor cringe just a bit, but there’s instantly warmth behind him and a weight on his shoulder.

“that smells so good,” troye groans, exaggeratedly, yet it still makes the tips of connor’s ears burn.

“maybe i’ll quit youtube and become a chef,” connor says, even though they both know that the only way he gets away with cooking successfully is by randomly throwing ingredients together and hoping for the best.

“if that means that you’ll cook for me all the time, then i say do it.”

“shut up and get the plates.”

“yes, _honey_.” and with a kiss on the neck and a whiff of connor’s own shampoo, the warmth behind him is gone, leaving him suddenly feeling cold and craving troye’s touch again.

he watches his boyfriend flit around the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, feeling strangely giddy when troye doesn’t ask him where the forks are or which cupboard contains their favorite mugs.

troye then starts humming a song from his new album— one that connor only just barely listened to last night before they went to bed. he still remembers the countless snapchats he would receive while troye was in the studio, making connor both miss him terribly and feel immensely proud of him.

poaching the eggs only takes around 20 minutes, so by the time connor sets their breakfast on the table, troye has resorted to singing at the top of his lungs, dancing terribly on top of his chair, and looking almost like one of those kids at a school dance who think they’re too cool for everyone.

“it is too early for this,” connor remarks, taking his place on the other side of the table and breathing in the smell of his favorite coffee and his favorite boy.

“it’s almost two in the afternoon, _babe_ ,” troye says, rolling his eyes and already reaching for connor’s mug because, _apparently_ , it tastes better than his own.

connor groans, embarrassment curling in his chest as he covers his face with his hands. “why do you have to bring that up every single day?”

he can hear the smirk on his face when troye says “you’re just so _obvious_ , con.”

and it’s _true_ , is the thing— connor is so obvious on social media when it comes to troye that they don’t even _try_ hiding their relationship anymore. his instagram post on the day of troye’s showcase was the one incident that seems to stand out the most as everyone likes to continue to tease him over it to this day.

connor feels troye tangle their ankles together under the table, listening to the way he exaggerates his little delighted hum at the first bite of toast so connor will stop hiding.

he puts his arms down and catches the fond smile on troye’s face, one that makes his eyes scrunch up, before he suddenly looks extremely interested in his eggs and toast.

 

vi.

“so, what’s the plan for today?”

“absolutely nothing.”

“i like the way you think, sivan.”

**  
**

vii.

“you are seriously not thinking of washing the dishes, con.”

connor blinks at him from across the table where he already has the plates stacked in one hand. “what.”

“you can’t waste _precious_ time washing the _dishes_ ,” troye repeats. “at least, not while _i’m_ here.” and then he does that _thing_ again— where he peers up at connor through his eyelashes with his stupidly blue eyes and looking too pretty to even be on this _planet._

“you’re doing that thing again. you can’t keep _doing_ that _thing_ ,” connor manages to say.

“what thing?” troye then starts biting his bottom lip and, literally, _what the hell._

“this happens _every_ time you stay over, troye. the dishes pile up and i have to do them when you leave,” connor says and he’s _not_ going to give in, he swears. “i have to do the dishes. all by my _lonesome._ ” and with that, he turns on his heel and heads over to the sink.

he can feel the glare that troye’s drilling in the back of his head as he turns on the water, but connor knows that he’s got him right where he wants him even before he hears the sound of the chair scraping backwards, light footsteps, and some grumbling behind him.

“i’ll wash, you rinse,” connor says, doing nothing to try and hide his smug grin as he hands the dirty plate over.

“i hate you so much right now,” troye grumbles, but he bumps his hip against connor’s while he says it, so he knows that it’s okay.

**  
**

viii.

somehow, they manage to not get in a water fight while washing the dishes, which connor considers a win.

he distantly hears troye sigh in relief when they put up the last fork, then smiles to himself when he feels nimble fingers trail slowly down his wrist, following the veins, and into the palm of his hand before suddenly intertwining their fingers together.

“now we can _finally_ do nothing,” troye proclaims happily, tugging connor’s hand to follow him to his designated spot in the living room— the couch’s armrest.

even though he would never admit it, the couch is probably troye’s favorite place in connor’s apartment, besides the bedroom obviously. not only can troye feed his gta addiction with the plasma screen right in front of him and the kitchen only a few steps away, but connor will be there right beside him— either with his head on troye’s lap or tapping away on his laptop on the other side of the couch.

today doesn’t seem to be one of those days as connor watches troye immediately reach for his macbook from where he left it last night before they went to bed together at nearly four in the morning. he plops right down on one end of the couch, immediately sinking further into the cushions, and picks his feet up to rest on the middle seat. “my playlist or yours?”

“mmm, yours.” connor tries to ignore the sudden lack of warmth from his hand and sits down on the other side of the couch, copying troye’s position and pulling out his phone to reply to some neglected texts and emails because he’s been _busy_ , he _swears._ “i want to listen to your new album again.”

troye rolls his eyes because they’ve been listening to literally nothing _but_ the album, even having been persuaded to sing connor’s favorite lines to him before bed. “you’re gonna make me get sick of these songs even before they’re released,” he says, but connor leans forward to peek at his laptop screen to notice him pulling it up anyway.

connor flashes his teeth at him in one of his trademark exaggerated grins, even tempted to pull out the chin hands, but then the first song plays— one that he’s almost absolutely positive was inspired by their trip to new zealand— and he suddenly wants to pay as much attention to this listening of the song as he did the first time.

troye then stretches out his legs to lock connor’s ankles inside his own.

**  
**

ix.

“con, look at the thing i just reblogged.”

“but did you watch the video i just sent you?”

“no, i’m too busy looking at memes.”

“i honestly can’t believe you just said that.”

**  
**

x.

“there’s nothing to do,” connor exclaims forlornly at the ceiling, hanging upside down from the couch.

“mhm,” troye mutters, headphones in and looking extremely busy while staring intensely at his laptop screen.

but he also looks so _pretty._

“pay _attention_ to me,” connor says, loud enough that he’s sure his neighbors heard. it’s not usual for troye to do actual work when he’s with connor— especially when it revolves around his music— and it’s _especially_ unwelcome today because this is the day they reserved themselves, albeit spontaneously, to do _nothing._

and it’s just— troye’s eyes look very pretty today.

connor struggles for a couple of seconds until he’s sitting upright, a tad bit disappointed when troye, his own _boyfriend_ , doesn’t look away from his screen for even a second. he then has no choice but to, after carefully peering over troye’s shoulder to see is he’s secretly in some type of important conference call, drop his head right on top of his hands on the keyboard.

the resounding thud his skull makes with the laptop is loud enough to be slightly concerning.

finally, troye has no choice but to stop typing a reply to an email to look down at him. “what are you doing?”

“pay attention to me,” connor repeats, staring up at him. from here, it’s like he can calculate the exact slope of troye’s eyelashes. also he can see up his nose.

“i’m staying with you for a week, okay, i’m going to have no one else to give my attention to,” troye deadpans, though connor can definitely see how hard he’s trying not to smile by the corners of his mouth twitching.

“you _sure_ know how to woo a man,” connor sighs dreamily, fluttering his eyelashes up at the boy. he squirms around, just to make it difficult for him, until troye has no choice but to close his laptop and set it on the table, leaving connor’s head to be perfectly on his lap.

connor tries not to seem like he’s preening in having all of troye’s attention. even though he is.

“it’s how i got you, isn’t it?” troye sighs, running his hand through connor’s hair. it’s undoubtedly ruining his hair and his almost flawless quiff from earlier, but there’s something about how he’s sinking into his own couch cushions and being able to listen to the soft breaths troye takes, watching how his chest slowly lifts and falls with the hum of the air conditioner in the background that makes connor unable to move.

“who says you got me?” he replies, biting at the inside of his cheek and grinning.

“good question,” troye hums, pretending to look thoughtful as he twists his body around and leans down at the same time so they don’t end up doing a spiderman kiss— which was very unromantic, the one time they tried, despite what everyone says.

connor goes a little cross-eyed when he tries to follow the movement of troye’s pretty mouth before they’re kissing. it’s not exactly chaste like from their shower, but it’s soft and warm and, somehow, troye always tastes so sweet.

**  
**

xi.

troye falls asleep on him in the middle of them making out, right before he was pretty sure they would have to move to the bedroom soon so they don’t accidentally give their neighbors a free show.

typical.

**  
**

xii.

it’s nearing sunset when connor makes sure troye’s all tucked in with a nearby quilt, because he’s a _good_ boyfriend _okay_ , which means that it’s close to dinnertime.

connor’s almost absolutely positive that the only edible thing in his fridge are a couple of cherry tomatoes and a jar of mayonnaise. also a lot of alcohol. which means he has to go grocery shopping— which means he has to go _outside._

he can’t find it in him to wake troye up, who is sleeping peacefully with only minimal snoring, which means he has to go outside _alone._

this time, he has no one to blame but himself, so he’s only dragging his feet a little when he goes to get changed and make himself look somewhat presentable.

he’s tugging at his shirt a little bit when he notices the beginning of a bruise where his neck and shoulder connect. it’s tender when he pokes at it, making his toes curl against the bedroom floor, meaning that troye definitely placed it there barely a few minutes ago.

thankfully, it’s not very big, but connor is still desperately hoping he doesn’t bump into fans any time soon.

it’s when he’s almost out the door when he notices there’s still music playing from troye’s laptop, most likely from the headphones being ripped out from their squirming around, and connor is definitely not giddy when he recognizes the songs to be from a mix he made and sent to troye when he was feeling lonely and missing his boyfriend’s touch.

**  
**

xiii.

the trip to the store barely takes ten minutes— mostly because troye would skin him alive if he finds out he went grocery shopping without him, meaning that he didn’t get a chance to buy his favorite american junk foods.

although it isn’t likely that connor will run into any fans in a random grocery store in los angeles, he still makes sure to keep his head down. if he gets caught with a hickey on his neck, his manager is going to have an absolute _field_ day.

he’s in and out with his and troye’s dinner, not even thinking twice when he had automatically reached for the boy’s favorite sushi.

**  
**

xiv.

troye’s playing gta when connor gets back home, because, of _course_ he had brought his memory card from perth. he’s still cuddled up in the bundle of blankets connor had piled on him before he left, looking bleary-eyed yet concentrating extremely hard on the screen in front of him.

“i _literally cannot_ believe you ditched me,” troye says in greeting, followed by a high-pitched shriek from the game.

“you l _iterally_ passed out on me while we were making out,” connor proclaims loudly, dropping the plastic bag on the coffee table to immediately head towards where troye was sitting. he doesn’t have to say anything for troye to pause his game and set his controller down, then grabbing onto the edges of the sheets to open his arms for connor to fall into.

troye lets out an “oof” when connor collides into him, yet he still wraps his arms around his waist as he gets straddled by a cute boy.

connor’s face is right in the crook of his neck, and he can’t help but raise his arms so he’s hugging his boyfriend around the neck, leaving his hands free to tangle in troye’s still-damp curls. he can watch the sun disappear under the fence from the window behind the couch, noticing how this spot behind troye’s ear smells a lot like soft sunlight and connor’s shampoo.

he feels lips on his neck, pressing a sweet peck there, even though troye knows how ticklish he is unless they’re properly making out, so connor absolutely does _not_ giggle while also bending his neck in a strange way to get away.

troye then starts repeatedly pressing exaggerated kisses onto the side of connor’s neck, as if he’s playing with a little kid, and, despite connor’s resistance and loud laughter, he’s somehow succeeding.

connor doesn’t even try to ask him to stop because troye wouldn’t anyway, but also because it feels like there’s no air in his lungs from how hard he’s laughing— which is one of his favorite things in the world. troye seems to have the same problem as connor can feel his smile against his neck.

he doesn’t even let up when they’ve somehow ended up with connor on his back and troye hovering above him, ankles familiarly tangled together and a weight on connor’s stomach and chest.

and it feels nice— finally having someone to actually physically touch in his apartment when there have been so many times where he’s felt like he was about to explode from the silence.

the fact that that someone is his boyfriend, who can make him laugh and feel like he’s the luckiest person alive, is a plus.

**  
**

xv.

probably the best part about dating his best friend is that he doesn’t say anything when connor moves to stand up on his chair before dinner with his iphone camera at the ready.

troye sits patiently, fiddling with his chopsticks as his eyes flicker back and forth between the sushi and connor, who is trying to make sure he gets the perfect shot.

“get a good one?” he asks when connor sits back down, setting his phone aside so he can edit it later.

“of course,” connor scoffs. “i’m a _professional_ ,” he emphasizes by snapping the chopsticks apart without a single quirk of his lips.

“connor franta— youtuber, author, and professional instagram user,” troye deadpans before immediately popping a salmon roll in his mouth, chewing while he tries to tear at the soy sauce packet. it’s such an endearing habit of his— where he has to always taste his sushi before breaking open the soy sauce, as if he believes that, one day, he won’t ever need it.

“doesn’t quite have a ring like connor franta, master chef.”

“my egg wasn’t very poached this morning, _mr. franta._ ”

“you didn’t say anything this morning!”

“you looked so happy not burning something, alright, how could i ruin that?”

“you, troye sivan mellet, are a _terrible_ boyfriend.”

“and yet, you still got me my favorite sushi.”

“obviously because _i’m_ the _best_ boyfriend,” connor says, batting his eyelashes and knocking his bare foot against troye’s cold one under the table.

troye doesn’t bother with a response, later claiming that his mouth was full and it would’ve been impolite to keep talking. instead, he kicks connor back under the table.

**  
**

xvi.

during dinner, the two of them discuss just how obvious the caption of the sushi picture should be on instagram to drive their followers up the wall, especially those who have been trying to piece evidence together that points to them dating. it’s definitely one of their favorite activities to do together— watching and reading just how clever their fans are and how they had managed to point out the undeniable fondness they had for each other even before they started dating.

they don’t stop playing footsie under the table the entire time.

**  
**

xvii.

after dinner they, _surprise_ , fall back into their spots on the couch— troye picking up his controller to play more gta and connor snuggled up right under his arm with his laptop, scrolling through his twitter and tumblr.

connor tilts his head to press a kiss on the underside of troye’s jaw— one of his favorite spots, simply because of how easily it bruises— when the boy moves away, asking “have you brushed your teeth yet?”

connor groans, disentangling his limbs from troye’s, and drags himself to the bathroom while he hears nothing but the sounds of cars exploding through the tv speakers.

this was all his own fault anyway. ever since they started dating, connor has been adamant on making sure to brush his teeth before touching troye with his mouth every time they have sushi together (which is _way_ too often, if you ask him). although nothing has happened involving troye and his selective shellfish allergy, connor is just paranoid, _okay._

they’re just the type of couple to get extra cuddly after sharing a meal together.

“thanks, babe!” connor can hear troye exclaim from the living room over the sound of running water and, if he’s being honest, dragging himself from troye’s body warmth for a few minutes to brush his teeth is worth connor later being able to put his mouth on his boyfriend properly.

**  
**

xviii.

connor ignores the sudden tightening in his chest when he notices troye’s toothbrush next to his. it gets harder to ignore when he notices the unopened bottle of shampoo on the counter that connor recognizes from perth, or the tub of troye’s hair wax from the day before with the lid off, or both of their boxers on the floor from this morning.

it’s even worse when, after his mouth is now minty fresh, he notices troye in the kitchen after not finding him in front of the tv.

his back is to him while he fixes himself a cup of tea and connor can’t help but admire, for possibly the _thousandth_ time that day, how lovely troye looks absolutely swimming in one of connor’s shirts.

he turns around then to head back to his spot on the couch, holding up his cup of tea with both of his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to blow on it gently. he looks soft and sweet, with his delicate fingers and pretty eyes and messy hair.

connor doesn’t think he’ll ever meet somebody else who can make his chest ache like this.

**  
**

xix.

they’re cuddling on the couch again with the food network mindlessly playing in the background while they both scroll through their tumblrs. occasionally, they would each turn their laptop to the other to show something funny, giggle at it together, and then continue scrolling in silence.

it’s not connor’s favorite way to spend his day— preferring to go out into town, go shopping, or even pretend to be fit and go on a run. even though he just feels so lazy today, which usually happens when he hangs out with troye, it also feels like he’s slowly rotting in his cross-legged position on the couch.

“do you wanna go for a walk?” connor asks when the heat of his laptop seeping through the blanket and to his legs starts to get too much for him.

“con, it’s almost midnight.” troye doesn’t stop scrolling.

“i’m so _bored_ ,” he says dramatically before resting his head on troye’s shoulder and nudging him with his nose. “and i’m a growing young boy who needs his exercise.”

“you’re a 22-year old man, not a dog.” connor can almost hear him roll his eyes, though he’s undoubtedly wearing one of his amused smiles.

troye jostles connor a bit when he closes his laptop and sets it on the coffee table. he then turns his entire body until he’s facing connor, sitting with his legs under him, and giving him his full attention. it’s one of connor’s favorite things about him— how he’s always focused on the person he’s talking to, almost hanging onto every word.

“it’s not much, but we can watch a movie before bed?” troye suggests, looking thoughtful and serious. it’s very cute. “and tomorrow, if you really want, we can go outside.” he scrunches his nose at that, as if disgusted by the idea, but connor knows that he’ll become just as restless if they don’t stretch their legs besides moving between the couch, the fridge, and the bathroom.

“hm, got any ideas?” connor asks, belatedly noticing how troye has started to play with his fingers.

“disney?” he asks, cocking his head as he stares at their entwined hands. “kind of in the mood for grand romance, drama, and cheesy love songs, y’know?”

connor’s grinning even before troye finishes his list because _what did he ever do to deserve a boy like him?_

“what did i ever do to deserve a boy like you?” he blurts out, belatedly realizing how utterly sappy and lovesick he sounds which, to be fair, he kind of is.

“well, what can i say,” troye says, sighs dramatically. “you’ve been blessed.” he then pretends to flip hair over his shoulder, but connor can definitely see the light blush already crawling up his neck. he squeezes connor’s hand before quickly leaning in and kissing him so deeply that, when troye draws back, connor can still feel his lips tingling and his toes curling into the fabric of the couch.

troye laughs loudly at the look on connor’s face, which he can feel starting to burn, before he’s jumping off the couch to retrieve the tv remote that has somehow ended up on the other side of the room.

connor definitely doesn’t doubt having lucked out.

**  
**

xx.

they end up watching tangled, because it’s one of connor’s favorites, _okay._

they both swoon when flynn comes onscreen and recite the most famous scenes word for word. troye tells him that rapunzel had always reminded him of connor because of her green eyes, _though yours are much prettier,_ he says. connor rolls his eyes and kicks him under the blanket.

they sing along to all the songs, especially _i see the light_ , and connor doesn’t even mind that he’s ruining his chance to listen to troye singing one of his favorite disney songs, whose album has charted on countless sites, with his own mediocre voice. it’s definitely a very different combination— with troye’s light and airy voice and connor’s untrained one that still occasionally cracks, though it clearly doesn’t matter when one of connor’s neighbors starts banging on the wall, yelling at them to shut up.

troye’s loud laughter nearly causes the landlord to come up herself. thankfully, connor silences him with a smack to the face with a pillow.

**  
**

xxi.

connor feels a little dazed when he’s shaken awake, having to blink away the sleep several times before he’s met with troye’s tender smile.

mulan is playing almost silently on the tv, about halfway through, and he’s completely molded to troye’s side. the clock on the bookshelf tell connor it’s nearly two in the morning, but he’s too comfortable and warm to bother moving.

“let’s go to bed, babe,” troye says softly, shaking him again when he notices connor’s eyes starting to droop close again. his breath smells like butter, most likely from the bowl of popcorn that’s still in troye’s lap, making connor wrinkle his nose.

“five more minutes, mom,” he mumbles, turning his head so his face is pressed up against troye’s shoulder. honestly, he’s never loved their height difference as much as he does during moments like these where it feels as if their bodies fit perfectly together.

“you can have more than five minutes if you would just _get up._ ”

“will you carry me?” he looks up at troye hopefully, trying to bat his eyelashes even while half-asleep.

troye looks unamused, almost bored, but his eyes look so bright that connor would let him rule the world if he wanted to. “no.”

connor smiles against troye’s shoulder, knowing that he’ll be able to feel it. “didn’t hurt to try.”

**  
**

xxii.

connor watches troye scramble around from the living room to the kitchen and back as he tries to clean while connor’s still horribly slouching on the couch. that boy doesn’t seem tired one bit, most likely thanks to the power nap from earlier, as he tries to carry all the mugs and bowls to the sink at once.

usually, connor would be the one to clean up before they go to bed while troye shuffles to the bathroom to get ready because he’s the only one who isn’t _absolutely_ hopeless, but he just can’t be bothered to get up right now.

he hears a loud _clang_ , like troye had just dropped a glass too hard in the sink, and smiles at the little “oops” connor hears him make to himself. he seriously wonders how he had managed to keep his apartment in one piece when connor had let troye stay over while he was gone a few months ago.

troye comes back into the living room and turns the tv off, which connor had been staring at, yet not completely understanding what was happening plotwise. he grabs connor’s shoulders and heaves him up into a proper sitting position, who exaggerates his groaning.

“time for bed,” he says, almost cheerfully, as if he’s enjoying watching connor struggle to keep his eyes open, though he gently slips his hand in connor’s before tugging at him to get on his feet.

connor’s not really that tired— feeling like maybe he can stay up talking to his boyfriend for at least an hour as long as it’s in his bed, but he’s certainly fine with how troye pulls him closer until their hips are touching. there’s an arm wrapped around his waist, as if he’s incapable of walking a few feet to the bedroom by himself, but connor craves his touch so much that he doesn’t pull away.

they both shuffle into the bathroom to brush their teeth together, side by side. they don’t speak while they try to make room for each other to fit in front of the mirror or when they wet their toothbrushes, mostly because connor’s still in that daze where he’s properly waking up and troye is perfectly content with being in his boyfriend’s presence. they occasionally bump their hips against each other when they’re brushing their teeth though, making each other smile through the foam in their mouths.

it’s too late to wash their faces, yet connor has to forcibly pull troye away anyway and into the bedroom when he notices him about to tie his hair up. the boy huffs the entire time, crossing his arms, but it’s not like they particularly care about their skin that much, especially with how it’s apparent that they’re not going to leave the apartment anytime this week.

connor doesn’t mind that one bit.

**  
**

xxiii.

connor immediately falls onto the bed when they enter the bedroom, face first, without even turning on the lights. thankfully, his room isn’t that messy, so there’s only a few seconds delay before troye has reached the edge of the bed in the dark without injuring himself.

“scoot over,” troye whispers, and connor can sense him hovering over him. it’s not an entirely bad feeling.

he rolls over until his back hits the wall and immediately moves to take off his sweatpants and shirt, otherwise he’ll probably die of heatstroke, leaving him in only his boxers. troye does the same and then immediately latches onto connor— hooking a leg over his hip and tugging him closer with an arm around his middle, resulting in connor’s face to be pressed up against the base of his throat.

connor tugs at the blanket until it’s over their shoulders and immediately moves closer, making sure there’s no more space between their bodies. troye’s skin is soft and warm, and with his limbs thrown over his body, he feels like he’s so safe that he wishes he could never leave the bed.

“are you gonna sleep?” he asks, voice muffled from where he’s partially buried under the blanket and being so close to troye’s throat that he can feel it moving when he swallows.

“i’ll try,” he hums, bringing a hand up to brush back what used to be connor’s quiff, which still had a bit of wax in it. connor can already hear him grimace, but then he feels that same hand wipe the leftover wax on the pillow right next to where his head is.

“i really hate you,” connor says, rubbing his cold feet against troye’s ankles in retaliation.

“mmm, you too, babe,” he mumbles, going back to running his hand through connor’s hair and threading his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his head. he’s gentle with it, making connor almost purr with contentment as he wiggles to get closer to the warm body next to him.

he had never thought it was possibly to feel comfortable when in bed with another human being, especially after having felt so strange when he shared a bed with his then-girlfriend, but what he feels right now with his cold toes underneath troye’s ankles and his smooth neck within kissing distance feels more like home than anything else.

“good night, troye,” connor says softly, following his gut and lifting his head a bit to press a kiss at the base of his neck. there’s something bright and heavy in his chest, which has been there ever since he made troye laugh at a dumb joke he made when they first met, that makes connor want to say _i love you._

just the _thought_ of it—the thought of telling troye about how he _truly_ feels about him makes his throat close up, because he’s never been with a boy before, that this is his first try at a real relationship as himself, unlike troye who has hooked up once or twice.

but there’s absolutely no way that troye doesn’t know how he feels about him, with how softly he tugs at his hair and the gentle press of his lips against connor’s forehead.

there’s definitely no way that troye doesn’t know with how connor had picked him up at the airport when he arrived in los angeles, surprising him with a bouquet of flowers because they’re both hopeless romantics and he knew that troye wouldn’t think it was cheesy, or how gently connor had kissed him when the door to the apartment closed and they were free from prying eyes, having to stand on his tiptoes a bit while they smiled against each others lips.

there’s absolutely no way that troye doesn’t know with how desperately connor had clutched at his back or the sheets last night while troye had to refrain from sucking bruises on his neck, his collarbones, his chest, or how connor reached out for his hand while troye kissed him so hard he felt dizzy, as if his touch was able to keep him from floating.

“good night, connor,” troye whispers back, just as softly.

and it’s enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [танцуем медленно мы летними ночами](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184413) by [wllzft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wllzft/pseuds/wllzft)




End file.
